


Ink Masters

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Shop AU, I Don't Even Know, M/M, WTF, and 'ferre has bleached blonde dreads, and courf wears care bear t-shirts, and takes them off, because I said so, enjoy, jehan has purple hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 14:01:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Les Amis are tattoo artists (except Joly, who is their receptionist, and Enjolras because reasons).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink Masters

                The single brass bell attached to the weather-beaten blue wooden door rang merrily as Enjolras tugged it open and stepped over the threshold. As the last tinkles of the bell faded, the boy behind the counter looked up. “Hey, Enj!” he grinned, setting down his magazine.

                “Hey, Joly; how’re you?”

                “Can’t complain. We’re two months into the school year and I haven’t gone to the infirmary with a case of alcohol poisoning, spinal meningitis, or African sleeping sickness yet, so I think I’m in the clear.” Enjolras laughed at his favorite little hypochondriac as the med student added, “Oh, hey, the gang’s all here so…ya know, go on back.”

                He rapped his knuckles on the counter and walked past Joly to the curtain that separated the front of the shop from the main part, “Tell Bossuet I said hi, ‘kay?”

                “Will do.”

                “Hey, Enjolras!” someone shouted as he walked into the back room.

                “Hey, JP. How’re you?”

                The tall, too-skinny, cigarettes-and-crack diet boy with a severe purple bob—whose more-than-slightly askew nametag read “Jean ‘Jehan’ Prouvaire, at you services”—laughed as he straightened up his station. “Same shit, different day. You?”

                The blonde shrugged, “’M alright.” He started his little circle around the shop, checking in on all of his friends.

                Two boys sat opposite each other just to Jehan’s left. One boy had a cross tattooed on his shaved skull, the other a dragon creeping up the side of his neck to wrap just underneath his jaw, and they were hard at work tattooing a pair of twin girls. One twin had “I am the protagonist” written across her chest is Feuilly’s graceful script; the other was getting “I am the antagonist” inked in Bahorel’s boyish scrawl. Each nodded to Enjolras in turn, absorbed in their work.

                In the center of the room was Courfeyrac, who was leaning carefully over an Asian man with frosted tips as he tattooed a koi fish over the man’s ribcage. He did not speak to the small, dark-haired man as he shucked off his oddly whimsical Care Bear t-shirt (Enjolras couldn’t really blame him; it was over a hundred degrees in the cramped little shop), preferring to just watch Courf work. Everything about him was small and doll-like, including his hands, deft as ever as he filled in scale after tiny scale.

                To complete the circle was Combeferre, whose eyes ticked up to register that he’d seen Enjolras and then focused back on his work.

                “Hey, ‘Ferre,” he nodded to the boy with long bleached dreads.

                “Hey, Enj,” he nodded back, as he rubbed down some biker-guy’s arm with alcohol. “R’s in there,” he said, pointing toward the back room with his handful of wet cottonballs. “Go on back.”

                “Thanks.”

                “No prob.”

                Enjolras snuck quietly through the curtains that blocked the back room from view of the shop and grinned when he saw his favorite artist at work. Grantaire was bent over his drawing table, curls hanging wildly from the knot he had tried to secure (without much success) with a pencil, brows furrowed in concentration. “Hi,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around the smaller man’s waist from behind. “How’re you feeling?”

                “Interrupted,” the artist sighed.

                “Nooo,” Enjolras teased, “C’mon, you love when I come visit the shop.”

                A helpless smile found its way to Grantaire’s lips and he grinned in spite of himself. “Only a little. You saw everyone, now go!” he shooed the blonde away with a flick of his wrist. “I’m working, remember?”

                “I’ll see you tonight, though, yeah?”

                He heaved a long-suffering sigh, “ _Yes_. Now _go_.”

                “Alright, alright, I’m goin’, I’m gone,” Enjolras laughed, backing out of the tiny room and strolling back through the shop.“G’bye!” he called over his shoulder as the door bell chimed again to let him out.

                “Toodleooski!” Joly replied jovially.

                He chuckled to himself as he started down the sidewalk.

                God, he hoped his friends never changed.

                Like Jehan had said…same shit, different day.

**Author's Note:**

> gaaaah so here's what happens when I'm trapped at the doctor's office for forty-five minutes....uh, enjoy, I guess?


End file.
